


Cloudburst

by dechaltier



Category: Free!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 06:04:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18067973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dechaltier/pseuds/dechaltier
Summary: (Post-S1E6) Two friends get caught in a thunderstorm.





	Cloudburst

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariviand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariviand/gifts).



> For Jesse, who requested MakoHaru fluff as a pick-me-up and my fujoshit heart was all too happy to oblige.

“Looks like rain…”

Holding a raised palm to the sky to feel for droplets as a roll of thunder echoed in the distance, Makoto decidedly quickened his pace to retrieve his best friend from the school’s pool. The captain had already changed back into his school uniform, albeit foregoing a shower in his rush, and bid a ‘see you tomorrow’ to Nagisa and Rei back in the clubroom. Even Gou, who usually stayed behind to help Makoto coax Haruka out of the pool out of a sense of duty, had not been far behind in bowing out to beat the oncoming storm.

Just the two of them remained.

Haruka, meanwhile, was not so oblivious to things like the weather when he was in the water. After all, he could feel the tickle of the intermittent raindrops splashing onto his back while lapping across the pool. It was soft enough and a little colder than the chlorinated water, allowing him to distinguish between the two. Then there was sound of thunder, muted and faint, as his head alternated between being submerged and exposed to the air when he stole a breath. It was almost rhythmic—the rumble of the sky and the steady hum of being underwater, stroke by stroke, as he swam.

He was already making the turn to the other side when Makoto walked towards the edge of the pool, Haruka thrusting his fingers into the water’s surface and carving an opening that his body slid through in ambient fluid motions. The sight was so graceful, so dolphin-like, that no matter how many times he witnessed it, Makoto could not help but to momentarily stare in awe. 

While the approaching storm was not enough to immediately spoil his time in the pool, as Haruka's head jerked above the surface of the water, he was greeted by a stronger clap of thunder. That caused him to pause and glance up at the proffered hand, the strong arm, and finally, his friend’s smile.

“Haru-chan.”

That changed things.

Haruka tossed his head to shake the water from his hair before looking back up at Makoto. He then lifted his right arm, grabbing hold and allowing the taller boy to give him the leverage he needed to rise from the water.

“Drop the suffix.”

But Makoto’s smile remained, ever-widening in friendly amusement despite saying nothing in response, and he rarely ever did. After years spent together, he could not help but to slip in the ways of their childhood, perhaps due in part because Nagisa persisted in calling him that too. Either way, Makoto did not appear bothered in the slightest though his uniform was now splotchy from the water that had splashed him during the exchange. Despite his occasional grievances regarding Haruka’s obsession with water—and his stripping at the near sight of it for that matter—Makoto accepted this ritual of sorts. From dragging him out of his leisurely morning baths before school to out of the pool in the late afternoons after swim club practice had long ended, Makoto was already well-accustomed to it. Haru was Haru, after all.

“We should probably start heading back soon.”

Their gaze met momentarily before Makoto focused his line of vision past him, at the raindrops breaking the surface of the pool at an ever-quickening pace, watching as they formed circular ripples that widened before disappearing as the water smoothed only to be broken again by yet another droplet a couple centimeters away.

“Here’s a towel.”

It was just like Makoto to be so perceptive of him, and Haruka thanked him—not with words, but with his eyes. He rubbed the soft fabric against his hair and face, letting it drape around his shoulders as he made his way towards the clubroom, Makoto following behind like a stray dog. Even though they were on nature’s time limit, Haruka still took his time in washing off the remaining pool water that had become lukewarm against his skin. There was something about the way it felt that he never liked. Maybe it was because allowing the droplets to adjust to his body temperature left the act unconsummated, like reciting only half of a sutra. Nonetheless, he felt the compulsive urge to rinse himself completely. Makoto waited patiently all the while, though his eyes kept wandering to the window nervously and taking note of the ever-darkening sky.

After Haruka had finished and dressed, they left the school together as they always did, Makoto talking about some random occurrence and Haruka half-listening while watching the ocean waves lap against the shoreline, one foot in front of the other, as they headed home. Not that he found Makoto particularly boring, but rather that his friend had the habit of filling the silence between them. It was difficult to adjust to at first, but years of friendship later, Haruka found himself rather fond of hearing his friend’s voice break through even his most persistent of thoughts.

It was not long into their trip that their fragile moment of calm was interrupted by a sudden loud peal of thunder, and Haruka could feel a gentle tug at the hem of his shirt. They had little time to react when the sky opened up and started pouring thick, heavy drops down upon them. That was when he grabbed Makoto’s hand and ran.

They ended up finding shelter at an abandoned fishing shack on the wharf. It was probably not the safest place to be, but it provided a dry place to stay for the time being, sans the small leaks in the roof. Haruka stood, mouth shut and breathing hard through his nose, controlling the heaving in his chest after the mad dash. He could hear Makoto panting behind him, though it was soon drowned out by the sound of the storm overhead.

“Makoto. Are you scared?”

Haruka knew he was without even having to ask. His friend continued to maintain a grip his shirt so tight his knuckles were white, but he also knew Makoto found words to be encouraging at times like these.

As Haruka turned to face him, Makoto nodded with his eyes squeezed shut.

“Sit down.”

He spoke evenly, calmly, and Makoto did as he was told. Even though he was one of the tallest in their class, he never did learn to use his size to his advantage and was often scared of childish things. But Haruka never made fun of him; instead, he always came to his aid whenever he was distressed.

Why would his time be any different?

Once he was seated on the wooden bench did Haruka follow suit, so close that their shoulders touched. Even though Makoto was shivering from a combination of wet clothes and fear, having Haruka’s warmth beside him allowed his tense body to relax. They sat in silence, side by side, until Makoto was able to calm down.

“Haru—”

“Feeling better now?”

He nodded once again, and Haruka rested his head against his shoulder, not unlike Nagisa whenever he dozed off on the train. It may have been strange for him of all people to initiate, but somehow it felt necessary, _natural_. He could not see Makoto’s face at this angle, but Haruka imagined his eyes softening and watery—enough to make him want to crane his neck and swim in that gaze.

Being close to his childhood friend like this also allowed Haruka to take in the chlorine scent sticking to Makoto's hair and skin, and it made him realize how selfish he had been for taking his time. But before he could linger on the thought, a more daunting one took its place. The very idea of Makoto no longer being by his side was something Haruka preferred not to dwell on, but with what happened during their recent training camp was still fresh on his mind. While Haruka refrained from vocalizing it because it _should_ be obvious, Makoto was— _is_ —important to him.

“Sorry,” he says instead.

Makoto looked genuinely surprised. “For what?”

“Nothing.” Haruka quickly turned his head. His cheek burned, but he could blame it on the pressure of resting on Makoto’s shoulder. 

As it was, his friend could not help a smile.

“Thanks, Haru.”

And there they sat watching the rain, listening to the soft pitter patter of the droplets and the beating of their hearts.


End file.
